The Dead's Warning

Hospital staff reviewed camera footage inside the security room to confirm Zayn or someone else had pushed Captain Salem out of the window. For fifteen minutes after police arrived at the hospital, Zayn and his friends were prime suspects. Thankfully, camera footage revealed the truth . . . but the truth left room for more questions and no answers.

Zayn, Soraya and Volkan sat in the gray-walled security room on the third floor, with two police officers. Both officers were wore their green uniforms, had short black hair, larger than normal hands, stood at about five foot eleven, and they both had recently shaved beards, a light shade of black on their tanned skin. They played the camera footage back once more at six times speed and verified what they required.

"As you can see, the nurses placed your father in his hospital room at about 12:27 PM, and then both left a few minutes later at 12:34 PM," Officer Brioch said. He pointed at the black bezel computer monitor on the table surrounded by wires, cords, scribbled on documents, glass tea cups and almonds. A few water bottles scattered around the desk seemed old based on the plastic. "What none of us understand is the door that opens by itself at 1:03PM."

Officer Farouq fast forwarded the video footage. He stood to the right of Officer Brioch. Both of them went silent as the footage played.

Volkan and Soraya turned slowly in their chairs as to not accidentally make their guns visible under their shirts. They were still carrying their pistol and sub machine gun, which would've sent them straight to prison for illegal carrying. Sweat had built on Soraya's clothes the entire time and increased at the thought of being arrested. Volkan seemed calm but no one ever knew as he was a master at hiding his emotions.

Zayn watched as the officers played the security footage for them. The white flooring on the monitor glistened from the bright sunlight entering the hallway ahead. Captain Salem's room, room 323, was on the left. The camera zoomed in. Nothing. Nothing. Then as soon as 1:02PM turned into 1:03PM, the door slid open on its own. No one was there to open it.

Soraya, who stood to the right of Zayn gasped. Volkan, who stood to the right of Soraya, stepped back then said, "Oh, no, no, no. Did that door just open on its own?!"

Officer Brioch nodded. "Then you three came a bit after. We already confirmed what happened inside the room. I'm not supposed to talk about our investigation to the public, but I can tell you that it's almost certain this case will be closed and labeled suicide."

"My father didn't kill himself!" Zayn stood. "He's a captain in the military that protects you!" His leg muscles tightened. He stood and held eye contact with the officers who both had their hands inside their black vests. "Thanks for showing me the video. I've got a funeral to be at."

"Good luck, kid," both officers said.

The next four hours consisted of Zayn calling the funeral center where his father had apparently already reserved a spot years ago, communicating with his Aunt Niibel on the time and invitations, all the while, keeping his younger sister beside him and never letting her go out of his sight. By the time Zayn realized how hungry he was from picking up Imane at the police station, offering his interview with Officer Samira, then purchasing the coffin with his aunt's money, it was 5:23 PM, with the funeral having been set at sunset, 7:02 PM.

An awkward yet painful silence came between Zayn and Imane. They sat at a small Japanese noodle shop, at a window table on the left of the fairly empty shop beside a family of four and a few solo diners.

To the right of Zayn, out of the window, was a busy street of five o'clock car traffic, white, black, dark blue and gray cars lined the street with honks and engines roaring together as their air conditioners kept the drivers cool. The noodle shop was on the second floor of the small plaza they were in, so Zayn and Imane had an even better view of everyone outside, the grocery store across the street called Dounia Supermarket with its white and blue theme as well as the maroon red apartments on the upper level, some cracked and old, some recently remodeled.

"So Papa is dead, too," Imane broke the tension with even more tension. She sat across from Zayn, leaned on the window, a look of sorrow mixed with exhaustion. It was enough to make Zayn dig his index finger's nail into his thumb. "Guess we're alone with Aunt Niibel."

The server dressed in black delivered two light spicy chicken noodles in light brown bowls. He handed them both chopsticks and a fork as eating options inside a white napkin then left after telling them to enjoy the meal. Enjoyment wasn't something they could've felt even if they paid for it, though, the importance of family was something they would always have even if every blood relative had passed away.

"What if I wanted revenge, Imane?" Zayn asked, still staring out of the window.

"Revenge?"

Her brother nodded. "The ones responsible for taking Mom away from us. And Dad."

"But Mom and Dad . . . they . . . suicided."

"Let's say they didn't . . . and someone killed them."

"And you want revenge on the bad people?" Imane leaned forward on the dark brown wooden table. She placed her arms around her bowl of noodles. "If the police don't catch them then someone has to. It's not fair they get to keep living when Mom and Dad are gone."

Zayn broke open his wooden chopsticks and stuck them into his hot noodles. "You're right. It's not fair if they get away without being punished. Where's the justice?"

"But . . ." Imane bit her lower lip and pinched her left hand. "I don't want to lose you, too."

"You won't lose me." Zayn met his sister's doubtful brown eyes and stared right into them. "We're all we have left. I promise I'm going to give you everything I didn't have and protect you. I also promise I'm going to make the people who killed Dad and Mom pay." He shut his eyes and exhaled. He had no proof on whether his parents were murdered. All Zayn had was the belief that they wouldn't end their own lives. "You'll always have my back, right?"

"Always," Imane repeated, her look changing to one of assurement. Her brother was her world, and if he needed any help, she'd be there for him, as he to her.

"Then from here on out, I'm going to find out who killed Dad and Mom. And I'm not going to tell you the things that happen. Don't hate me for it. Don't question me when I don't tell you. Just believe me and always trust me. No matter what I do or what you think I did." Zayn leaned forward on the table and grabbed both of his sisters cold hands. "Okay, Imane? Now and when you get older. You promise?"

She stared at him, as if analyzing his words, as if coming up with questions to ask. But she didn't ask anything. She nodded. "I'll always believe you, Zayn."

He nodded and removed his hands from his sister's. Zayn thought about that gang member who was controlled by Omayra. Was that Zayn's fault that he was killed? Was it Zayn's fault that the entire floor of gang members were killed by Omayra? Indirectly responsible. Maybe? Would it happen again? Could Omayra just leave and control someone whenever she wanted? Question after question without answers.

If a power is what Zayn had possessed, he wanted to know how to use it, its rules and limits. Revenge was already deadly enough. He needed to know the specific details to his newfound power. As the saying went, one would need to dig two graves when seeking vengeance. One for the enemy, one for the seeker.

He ate his noodles with the shop's noise of people conversing, the radio playing French music and noodle slurps.

"I left you and controlled that human to safe your life," Omayra whispered in his mind. "I broke the rules of our pact and was punished for it. Thankfully, the blood feast that happened in that building was more than enough to supply me. If I ever possess another human without agreement with you, my vital energy level would be drained. What I do must be in agreement with you, excluding the time when you will do whatever I ask of you."

So I can make you control anyone I want? Zayn asked.

"First, you must make them feel fear. Once they are frightened, it allows access into their fears, to manipulate their reality and then control them. The length of control is based on how mentally weak they are." Omayra laughed. "Humans are ever so weak."

"Fear . . ." he whispered as he stared out of the window at the traffic circulation. Zayn exhaled and watched his sister eat her noodles in front of him. He feared nothing when protecting her.